Page 59 of Fall Wherever They May

I try to gather myself so I can talk to my wife, but the air won’t fill my lungs, and my body trembles. The pain takes my breath away. “You were my entire world, you know? God, I miss you so much. I remember the day we met during our freshman year in college. You remember that?” I ask, even though she can’t respond. “You were standing in the middle of the campus quad, trying to juggle your coffee, books, and a map. I had never seen anyone more beautiful in my life. Then you looked up at me with those big blue eyes, and I was done for. I fell in love with you right at that exact moment. I asked you if I could help you find your class, and you told me, "I pause to wipe my face, trying to collect myself. “You told me the last thing you would ever do is ask a man for directions.” My shoulders shake in laughter, but the laughter quickly shifts to body-wracking sobs.

My jaw ticks back and forth. “On our wedding day, you looked me in the eyes, and you made promises to me. I never . . . I never thought you would break them, but you did, Paise. Youwere supposed to love, honor, and cherish me until death do us part. It wasn’t supposed to be when you decided. We were supposed to grow old together. In sickness and in health. I loved you when you were sick. I know your heart was hurting, but why did you do this to us? Why did you do this to me?” I try to catch a breath, but it’s like a hot branding iron is being pressed to my lungs. I struggle to make it through the one-sided conversation—sobs continuing to wrack my body. “I would have given up everything for you. I would have walked away, contract be damned, if I knew.” I place a hand on my chest and rub, but it doesn’t alleviate the ache. I just want the pain to go away.

I sniff and wipe my tears from my face with the back of my hand. “I spent the past four and a half years wishing I could have been enough for you to have chosen me. I have to be done with feeling sad all of the damn time. I can’t live like this anymore." I place my head on my hand resting on her headstone and weep. I let the years of pain pour out of me right there on her headstone. I collect my tears again with my other hand and wipe them on my jeans. “I’ve met someone. I’m in love with her, but I need you to be okay with me moving on. I can’t move on . . .” A staggering breath escapes my lips as the tears continue to pour down my face. “I can’t move on with her while thinking you’re looking down on me in disappointment, thinking I’ve replaced you. Fuck, Paise. I can’t keep hanging on to a ghost. You’re not here with me. I just need a sign that it’s okay to love her. Please, allow me to love her. Walking through this life by myself is so damn lonely. I need her. Please, just give me a sign—any sign—that I can start living again: no more guilt, no more regret. I need peace.” Defeat engulfs me. I feel so alone and gutted—my body and mind in agony. I fall onto the cold, wet, snow-covered ground and sob. “I just need fucking peace.”

I don’t know how long I sit there waiting for a response that will never come; maybe it’s minutes, or it could have beenhours, but a hand gently falls to my shoulder. I look up to find an old man, who must be pushing late seventies, hovering over me. He’s dressed in a pair of black slacks, with a grey button-up dress shirt resting under suspenders. He’s holding a bouquet in his other hand. I wipe my face and try to collect myself. He gives my shoulder a tight squeeze.

Cold and wet, I rise from the ground, standing to meet his gaze. “I lost my wife twenty-three years ago to cancer,” he says, releasing my shoulder. The old man takes a couple of steps to stand in front of the headstone situated next to my wife’s. He squats down and places the bouquet of pink daisies on the base of the headstone. He looks up at me from where he’s stationed. “It’s never fair to lose someone you love. I’ve asked God my fair share of questions.” He dusts the snow from the headstone. “But what I’ve learned over the years is that sometimes he doesn’t answer us back the way we expect. Sometimes, the answers we seek are right in front of us.” He stands, taking a couple of steps toward me, then places his hand on my shoulder. He gives another gentle squeeze before pulling back. “We don’t always understand why things happen the way they do, son. But what I’ve come to learn when it comes to our trauma is there’s a juxtaposition—how would anyone know peace if there was no chaos?” My breath catches in my throat and my eyes well with more tears.

“You have to grab hold of what’s good and concentrate on that. What’s done is done. You have to keep living and know that just because our loved ones aren’t physically here, it doesn’t mean they aren’t with us every day.” He pats on my chest. “Always with us, right here. You can’t live for the dead, son; you have to live for living. Live for yourself.”

I pull him into my arms. My body shakes as I cry into his shoulder, not even caring that I don’t know this man. “Thank you,” I say on a ragged exhale. “Thank you so much.”

With a fatherly hug, he rubs my back.

I release the old man and place a kiss on my fingers and touch it to my wife and son’s headstone. One last goodbye. “Until we meet again. Take care of my baby, Paisley. I love you both so much.”

Giving the old man a handshake, I thank him again. He gives me a soft smile and pats my arm as we say goodbye. I don’t know if it was Paisley or a higher power who sent him, but either way, I’m thankful because I really needed him today. As I make my way back to the airport, a sense of relief hits me. I feel lighter. For the first time in over four years, I feel free.

My phone rings as soon as I walk through my front door. It’s ten o’clock at night, and I’m physically and emotionally exhausted. I ignore the call, make my way down the hall, and throw my suitcase on my bed. I’m just ready to unpack and hit the sack. To my utter dismay, my phone rings again. Sighing, I take the device out of my pocket, but the biggest smile lights up my face when I see who is FaceTiming me. I click the FaceTime icon and accept the call.

“What’s up, Tuck?”

“Cal! You will never guess what happened!” He says, sitting with his legs crossed in the middle of his bed, bouncing excitedly.

“What happened?” I sit down on my bed and forget about unpacking to give him my full attention.

“I scored a hat trick tonight at my game! It was so awesome." The phone scuttles as he reaches to grab something, then he comes back into view. “See! My coach signed a puck that says, ‘First Hat Trick.’” He holds up the puck next to his smiling face.

“No kidding? That’s awesome, Tuck! I’m going to have to take you out for ice cream to celebrate. Did you guys win?”

He frowns. “Of course we did. What kind of question is that? We won four to two.”

This kid. He lights up my world. Nothing beats coming home from work and getting a call from him. “I’m so proud of you, Tuck. Is your mom around?”

He looks off to the side, frowns, then back to me. “Uh, she said she’s going to bed. Anyways, I just wanted to tell you about my hat trick. Oh, and I saw your game! Ivan had a shutout against Colorado. That’s amazing! I bet Rich’s dad wasupset.” He laughs. “You played good too. Your slapshot was sick. Really went hard in the paint in that game.”

I can’t contain the laugh that bursts out of my mouth. “That I did, bud. It’s hard playing against a team you used to play for. Sometimes, you just gotta show them what they're missing.”

“Well, you did that. Okay, well, I have to go to bed now. I’m glad you’re home. I’ve missed you.”

“Me too, Tuck. I’ve missed you too.”

“K. Well, ‘night.”

“Good night, Tuck.” I hang up, tossing phone onto my pillow, and begin unpacking my suitcase.

I know Aspen well enough to know she was standing right there, and I’m sure she’s figured out by now that I have been dodging her. I hate it. I hate hurting her. I know without a doubt how I feel about her, and it’s time she knows it too. Once I unpack, it’s a pure battle of will to stay home and not marchover to her house. I’m tortured by how I’ve left things with her, but I’m exhausted, and it’s late. I know she doesn’t want to talk right now. Plus, I need to work up the courage to have the conversation we need to have.

Just as I’m about to strip down for bed, my doorbell rings repeatedly.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Aspen

Aside from that god-awful day Jason came wandering into my facility and brought all of the abandonment issues to the surface, I haven’t seen or heard from Cal. And as if that wasn’t bad enough, he just left me there, broken into pieces in my office. He said he’d be back, but instead he texted me. I knew to trust my gut. He avoids me, then asks my son if I’m around like nothing is wrong? That’s why I pretended like I was going to bed. Petty? Immature? Yeah, maybe. But now I’m thinking about him having the audacity to ask my son if I’m around when he's been the one dodging me all fucking week, and I’m riled up all over again.

I expected so much more from him than this. Beyond pissed, I put on my coat, then let River know I’m heading over to Cal’s so she can keep an eye on Tucker, even though he’s in bed. By the time I make it across the street, I’m livid. I ring his doorbell over and over like a complete psycho. A few seconds later his door opens.

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